The Meddling of Chaos
by Balancing Act
Summary: Alanna was caught. And now everything is wrong. Evil rising in frightening violence, strange visions and flashbacks of things that never were, friends dying by a companion's hand, Tortall in a turmoil of anarchy. This is an alternative reality gone bad.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The quotes in italics are from the first few pages of Alanna: The First Adventure, her book. The inspiration stems from a book by K.A. Applegate called Back to Before. The plot is mine, and shall stay mine. 

* * *

**Alanna was caught. It doesn't matter how, she just was. And when she was... she went mad.**

_Note: This, I think, shall prove to have more of a plot than the Twin Knights, and is not, I assure you, a typical convent story. It is not, in fact, a "convent story" at all. _

It is an alternative reality, a "might have happened" where the boundaries between reality and possibility are thin, and at times the other dimension breaks through. The realm of possibility is dangerous and very deadly, and things that might seem small set off chain reactions that change the entire story. Sometimes in ways that it should not be changed. 

~

Chapter 1 

_ "That is my decision. We need not discuss it," said the man at the desk. He was already looking at a book. His two children left the room, closing the door behind them. _

"He doesn't want us around," the boy muttered. "He doesn't care what we _ want." _

"We know _ that," was the girl's answer. "He doesn't care about anything, except his books and his scrolls." _

The boy hit the wall. "I don't want_ to be a knight! I want to be a great sorcerer! I want to slay demons and walk with the gods---" _

"D'you think I_ want to be a lady?" his sister asked. "'Walk slowly, Alanna,'" she said primly. "'Sit still, Alanna. Shoulders back, Alanna.' As if that's all I can do with myself!" She paced the floor. "There has got to be another way." _

The boy watched the girl. Thom and Alanna of Trebond were twins, both with red hair and purple eyes. The only difference between them---as far as most people could tell---was the length of their hair. In face and body shape, dressed alike, they would have looked alike. 

"Face it," Thom told Alanna. "Tomorrow you_ leave for the convent, and _I_ go to the palace. That's it." _

"Why do you get all the fun?" she complained. "I'll have to learn sewing and dancing. You'll study tilting, fencing---" 

"D'you think I like_ that stuff?" he yelled. "I _hate_ falling down and whacking at things! You're the one who likes it, not me!" _

She grinned. "You_ should've been Alanna. They always teach the girls magic---" the thought hit her so suddenly she gasped. "Thom. That's it!"_

* 

The girl who entered the classroom was dressed not in the demure gowns of the other inhabitants of the room, but in black men's clothes, her violet eyes burning madly and her coppery hair rippling around her ears. 

"My, my," Sarenday of Fairland sneered. "The Trebond girl is late." 

Alanna spun on her, growling low in her throat. 

"Quite uncivilized, are we?" Sarenday asked, looking at her fingernails. 

Alanna leapt for her. With a scream of terror, Sarenday toppled backward off her chair as the blur of black and copper was on her, and there was a whirl as the two girls rolled over and over, smashing into the chairs and tables. Sarenday let out another scream, and the other girls of the convent rushed at them, dragging the struggling Alanna off Sarenday as the violet-eyed demon bit and scratched to get loose. 

"Alanna!" The stern voice was Sister Derana's. Alanna let out another snarl of hatred as Sarenday got up. She was certainly a sight. Her fine gown was ripped and torn in several places, her hair was in wild disarray, her lip had been split, she had a black eye, and several marks on her arms from Alanna's grip. 

Derana strode up to Alanna and jerked her head around, forcing her to face her. Alanna stared at her defiantly, contempt in her eyes. "This was deplorable behavior, Alanna of Trebond." 

Alanna's reply was a stream of curses that would have made the rowdiest guardsman wince. Sister Derana went pale. "Alanna!" 

Alanna elbowed one of the girls holding her in the gut. As she went down Alanna twisted on the other one and threw her over her hip, diving past Derana's clutching arms. She streaked off down the corridor, with shouts of "Stop her! Stop her!" echoing behind her. 

A Mithran cloister boy came up blocked the way, his arms wide. She landed a punch to his nose, and there was a crack as red blood came streaming out. Sweeping his legs out from under him, she turned to face the next: another Sister. The Sister smiled gently at her. "Calm down, Alanna. You're getting worked up about nothing. Now, come here." 

Alanna's dagger was in her hand in an instant. 

"Where did you get that?" gasped the Sister, staring at it. More were running down the hall toward them. Alanna's only reply was another snarl of hatred as she lunged. The Sister screamed as the knife nicked her arm and glanced off, staring at the blood. Alanna spun past and raced down the hallways again, looking for a window. She crashed past two more cloister boys and a sister, landing another punch on the face of Reanne of Pilnock, who was running around shouting. 

Where was the entrance on this rabbit warren? She finally came in sight of the central archway and the threshold, and was streaking toward it when a strange tingling feeling grew behind her, and she felt herself frozen in one place. 

"Stop." The command was unnecessary, of course, but Alanna recognized Master Na-pan's voice, one of the sorcerers who taught the boys. She tried to lunge free, but the magic held her fast. Soon the Sisters and the teachers had surrounded her, and her violet eyes, filled with hatred, were watching for her chance. 

* 

Alanna threw herself against the sturdy door once again, jarring her small body. She was thrown to the floor, but got up again, pacing around the room like a wild animal. There was one window to the stone-walled room, and it had been barred. The door itself was locked from outside, and no amounts of effort could even make it shudder. 

Alanna's wild violet eyes peered this way and that nervously as she paced like a caged animal. Only when it was found she was unrestrainable had they resorted to locking her in this room. And she was unrestrainable, all right. 

They had taken her dagger. She felt at the place where it had been, at her waist under her shirt. It had always been there, an extra caution. And now it was gone. She crept to the window again, her feet as soft on the stone floor as that of a stalking panther. Twisting her head to look out between the iron bars, she saw the long drop. No escape there. She paced again, this time tilting her head to gaze at the ceiling, and stomped on the floor, looking for weak spots. None. 

Finally she returned to her study of the door, rubbing her hands on the soft black clothes she had been wearing when she attacked Sarenday. Not a dress, of course. This was her first day at the convent, and---she smiled grimly---probably her last. Knowing the Sisters, they would either send her home or keep her locked up for the rest of her life. But that would be better than staying. She paced again, her thoughts skittering like the leaves on a windy day. Her dream of being a knight had been shattered. And when that happened, she had been filled with a cold, icy feeling that had encased her in a solid block of coldness. 

She felt cut off from the rest of the world, as if she wasn't really living, but was in some strange bizarre dream. Maybe she was in some strange bizarre dream. It was all quite possible. She'd forgotten Thom, forgotten Coram, forgotten Maude, forgotten her father. Who were they? Dim figures in her memory, that didn't stir or move. She'd forgotten them. All that was left was one thing. She needed to get out of the convent. If she didn't, they'd lock her up for the rest of her life. She looked at the bars again, then went over to them, inspecting them more closely. They were flimsy things of tin. Apparently no one thought the prisoner would attempt the drop. 

Alanna's eyes glittered, and she began pounding with a stone shard she had picked up near the door. 

* 

It was a long drop. Alanna peered out the window, gazing down at the courtyard below. Coldly calculating how many bones she would break, she turned around and backed out the window, feeling her legs dangle in thin air. Then she dropped. There was a dizzying feeling of falling, and she moved her legs into a crouching position. She hit the ground with a crunch, landing on her feet, but there was a sharp pain stabbing through her ankle. She huddled where she fell, eyes darting about. There was no one there. 

Standing cautiously, she hobbled to the huge gate, feeling the pain stab through her ankle. Her ear-length copper hair was damp with sweat. Trying to force the bar on the gate out, she heard a shout from behind her. 

"Hey! What do you think you're--" 

She spun, her fingers scrabbling for a rock. Bringing her arm around, she swung it and the missle shot through the air. It hit dead center in the middle of the guard's forehead, and he fell backward, poleaxed. Alanna dragged the gate open and darted through to freedom, out into the dark forest. 

* 

Can anyone quote me a description of Liam? 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The quotes in italics are pieces from the Song of the Lioness series. The inspiration stems from a book by K.A. Applegate called Back to Before. The plot is mine, and shall stay mine. 

* * *

Alanna's violet eyes were flat with calculating deadliness as she lurked, a darker shadow in the shadows of the alley outside the Rivet Inn. Her skin was neither fair nor tanned, but a dingy brown that had come with several layers of grime. Her hair was the only thing that she took care of: it was tied back tightly and bound, keeping out of the way. White teeth glittered as she bared them in a feral grin, her ears catching the sound of drunken, wobbling footsteps. Only the momentary glint of dim light on steel revealed the dagger in her hand. 

As the drunken man staggered into the alley to lean over the gutter and vomit, a dark shadow came up behind him. He keeled forward and fell face first into it as the heavy hilt of a dagger slammed against his head, and darkness descended on him. 

Alanna turned the body over cautiously, then grabbed the purse, now quite thin, from his belt, the somewhat sharper dagger than her own, and the boots, which were slightly too big but warm anyway. Alanna examined him again and saw the glitter of an amulet at his throat. Pulling it out, she saw it had a faint emblem on it, and replaced it, knowing that it was far too traceable. Just to make sure the boots wouldn't do the same, she scuffed them in the mud, giving them another coating. 

Then she slipped out of that alley to go to another alley, stun or rob another traveler, or find somewhere to sleep. Clutching the purse tightly, she tied it about her belt, and tucked her tunic over it. This would buy bread, and maybe some fruit. 

Alanna padded down the dark streets of Irenroha, the strange-named town ten or so miles from the City of the Gods. It was a year since she had escaped from the convent, and even that was fading from her memory. Things faded from her memory a lot these days. She couldn't remember what the last person she killed looked like, or the expression on his face right before he died. She couldn't remember how many alleys and dark streets she had lurked in, a deadly shadow intent on one thing--staying alive. She fingered her dagger carefully. It didn't take that much skill to ambush a drunk man. That was good, because at eleven years old, Alanna was small and slender, with none of the build that would give her power. 

There was one good thing. She had no emotions, no feelings. She killed when she had to, for the purse of a drunk man. Her interest was riveted on surviving. Nothing else mattered. Humans were treacherous, stupid, selfish, and greedy. She'd found that out by now, and now she roamed the streets, taking advantage of those same stupid instincts to make her living. Living. She grinned mirthlessly. You could hardly call it living. She wasn't really alive any more, she reflected. She was a shadow, a dark image of what she had once been. What had she once been? She couldn't even remember. All she was now was a nightmare, a lurking menace. 

Her gaze traveled down over her clothes, the black ones she had stolen. The breeches were stiff wool, and the tunic was light cotton. Her body had changed, she knew, but she didn't really care. Rubbing the back of her neck, aching with tiredness, she cursed herself for being small and weak. She hadn't been this sore since the first month she had got here. 

Her memory slowly drifted back to the time when she had first reached Irenroha, how she had walked up and down its hard streets for hours until, exhausted, she had found a dark alley and slumped there. Dogs had attacked her in the night, and she had woken up at the first gash of teeth. Seizing the nearest weapon, she had knocked the snarling, ferocious bodies away, feeling her arms buckle under the weight of the heavy branch of discarded kindling. For the next few weeks she had hardly slept at all, haunting the marketplace and snatching food, her body growing thinner and her skin more pale. 

She had fallen ill a month after she had reached Irenroha, and had been so weak she couldn't even stand, coughs racking her body and with a burning fever. She'd crawled away from the pool of vomit of a drunken man where she'd collapsed the night before, retching at the horrible smell on her clothes. She had lain half-conscious for hours or days, she didn't really know how long. Some times she would have awaken, only to feel pain, and lapse into whirling darkness again. Voices had echoed through her mind, mocking her, haunting her, whispering words. They weren't memories, for she'd never heard them before. When she finally returned, she was a shadow of what she'd been, a thin, emaciated child who had deep shadows under her violet eyes, looking like they'd been bruised. 

She'd been close to dying, but then she'd been stepped on as she lay curled in an alley, stepped on by a drunken man. She could tell he was drunk by the stale reek of his breath, and in desperation, she'd stole his dagger hilt, crept up on him from behind, and cracked him over the head. She'd taken his purse and knife, and bought food and clothes. After that it became easier. The second time she'd stabbed her victim, a stupid merchant wandering through the darkest part of town. The blood that welled out and her victim's shrieks had startled her, but then she'd grabbed his heavy purse and ran before the city guardsmen got to her. 

She didn't always stab them; she took them down whatever way was quickest. The unarmed, the drunk, and the sluggish were too stupid to avoid the dark alleys where she lurked, and there they met their doom, in the dark shadow. She'd never taken on a man fully armed and capable, but she wasn't going to try. She'd go for the easy targets, with her slender build and small dagger. Maybe one day they'd avoid the dark alleys, but by then she hoped she'd be old enough to take on better targets. What else was there for her life but survival, after all? 

There was a crackle from a nearby alley, and Alanna's ears twitched as she stopped dead, listening intently. She could hear someone tunelessly humming, and slipped towards the sound, peering around the corner into another street. 

A man walked down the street, heading for the nearby alley. Maybe he thought he would take a shortcut. Alanna looked him up and down, then almost snorted in disgust as she realized he wasn't even wearing a weapon. There were some people that were unbelievably stupid. The light glittered on her teeth suddenly as she smiled in a feral grin, moving towards the alley. 

The man was wearing a dark cloak, so she couldn't see his body that well, but he couldn't be more than a village boy too idiotic to wear a weapon. Or he might be a sorcerer. A touch of worry ran through her, but then she remembered he hadn't been wearing robes. Most sorcerers wore robes, and there was a certain feeling about them, a tingling that went up her spine. 

She waited with the patience and silence of a waiting panther as he came closer, still humming tunelessly. As he passed her hiding place, she leapt out and shot toward him. 

Then he spun in a rapid blur, flinging off his cloak. Too late she realized he had excellent fighting physique, muscled limbs and body. But he didn't have a weapon... 

His foot shot out and caught her in the chest like the blow of a sledgehammer. She staggered backward, trying to catch her breath, but then flicked her hand, sending the dagger soaring toward the man. He dodged, but it sent a graze down his leg. He leapt toward her with the speed of a wildcat, two fists slamming into either side of her face. Her head cracked against the stone wall, and suddenly she was lifted into the air by the front of her tunic, strong hands gripping it. Her eyes met pale crystal ones, which suddenly widened in shock as they bored into her own violet ones, and then darkened to blue-gray as he breathed, "A girl..." 

Alanna stared into his own swiftly changing eyes. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Eyes that changed color... Eyes of ice green and blue-green and blue-gray and crystal... 

There was a roaring in her ears, and the world began to spin around her. 

_ He has a dragon's eyes... _

"Shang discipline is stricter than a knight's..." 

"Shang Masters, I hate this kind of thing..." 

Words spun around her head, voices, voices she'd never heard before. The world seemed to be tilting, and she was falling down an immeasurable abyss. 

The voices swelled to a roar, and she was in the center of a whirling vortex. Louder and louder and _louder_... 

And then everything went black. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The quotes in italics are from the first few pages of Alanna: The First Adventure, her book. The inspiration stems from a book by K.A. Applegate called Back to Before. The plot is mine, and shall stay mine._

* * *

There was a vast pounding in Alanna's head, and she bit back a groan as she sat up, clutching her head. Her hair had come loose and now hung in waves to her shoulders. She was in a narrow room of gray stone, filled with one cot and a bedside table. She couldn't remember what had happened... 

"Are you all right?" a voice rumbled. 

Alanna went stiff, and turned warily to look at the speaker. Coppery hair, muscled body... memory came back to her. She had tried to kill this man. There was no telling what he would do to her. And he was asking her if she was all right? What was wrong with him? 

"You fainted," he told her. "I didn't hit you _that_ hard. Even if you are a girl. I gauge the strength of my attack." 

She snarled under her breath. One of _those_ people, the ones who even helped their enemies if they were small enough and weak enough. But she wasn't an ordinary enemy. She wasn't going to lick his boots because he'd spared her. 

He came over, walking with the lithe grace of a cat. She cursed herself for not seeing it before she attacked him. Kneeling before her, he looked into her face. Blue-grey eyes with a tint of green... 

The world seemed to turn around her, and she swayed. 

He reached out a hand to steady her. "Don't faint again!" 

She shrank back from his hand. He was only a boy, she could see now, maybe twenty or twenty-five. That might have been the scars over his face, though. Her violet eyes were hard and watchful as they flickered from his hands to his face. 

He sighed. "Don't do that. I won't hurt you." 

_No, but I might hurt you._

"I'm a Shang. My name's--" 

"Liam," she told him without thinking. Then her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at the floor unseeingly. _Why did I say that?_

He stared at her. "How do you know that?" 

She brought a hand to her head, shaking it in confusion. "I don't know. I don't know how or why or... I don't know anything. I just..." Her voice trailed off. 

"What's going on here?" he asked, his eyes hardening, changing to a crystal color. 

"Your eyes," she said, staring at them, mesmerized. "Your eyes change colors." 

"So?" 

"I don't know." She lowered her head between her knees, fighting the nausea that was rising. "There's something wrong." 

She could sense his tense body relax and his face soften. "You're queasy from your head bashing into the wall." He paused. "You're very fast, though. Who taught you?" 

She raised her head, violet eyes cold. "No one." 

He looked puzzled. "Where did you learn, then?" 

"On the streets," she told him, refusing to give any more information than what he asked for. 

He sighed. "Fine. Who's your parents? Who takes care of you? You can't roam the streets alone." 

She lifted her chin. "I do. For all intents and purposes, I have no parents, no guardians." 

"You're joking," he said, his face incredulous. "You're just a girl. You couldn't survive on the streets alone." 

_You biased pig._"I kill people, Shang Dragon," she spat at him. "I kill people for money and clothes. I kill them or knock them out, ambush drunk men and people too foolish to heed the warnings of their elders about the dangers of dark alleys." 

"You're a murderer?" he asked, his eyes now wide and blue-gray. Then he stopped, and a strange expression came onto his face. "What did you say?" 

"I said I kill people," she snarled at him. 

"No, what did you call me?" 

She stared at him, uncomprehending. 

"You called me Shang Dragon," he said slowly. "How could you possibly know who I am?" 

She swallowed, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over her. "I..." 

He stood and began to pace, his eyes a dark blue, fixed on her. "You attack me in a dark alley, and then you faint, but only when you see my eyes. When you recover, that's all you can think about: my eyes. Then you tell me my name, and who I am." He stopped, and looked down at her. "I think an explanation is due." 

"How can I give you an explanation if I don't understand myself?" she yelled at him, frustruated, trying to calm the pounding of her head. "I don't know! Can't you just accept that?" 

His eyes were suddenly icy green. "You have the Gift, don't you? You're looking into my mind and leeching out my thoughts." 

"No," she protested, but he interrupted her. 

"You're using your dirty magic to steal things from my mind. You're probing around with your grubby fingers in _my_ thoughts!" He was shouting now, his face very pale. 

Her lips curled in a snarl. _Grubby fingers?_ Suddenly, she launched from her position on the floor, her hands contorted, and leaped on him, reaching for his neck. He tried to dislodge her, cursing, but she clung like a leech, her slender arms trying to strangle him. His hands came up and grabbed her wrists, but she bit him with her sharp white teeth, and he yelled, trying to curl his leg up to kick her off him. "Grubby fingers!" she shrieked. "Go back to the sewer from where you came!" 

"Street brat!" he yelled at her. "Dirty magic-user! You steal men's souls with your Gift!" 

"Lecherous brute!" she screamed at him. "Monster!" 

He flung her off him and she slammed into the wall, crumpling to the floor, where she lay, breathing heavily. He was panting, too, his broad chest rising and falling. They stared at each other. 

_It isn't like me to use control._ Alanna pulled herself up, favoring the side where he had thrown her into the wall. _You're made of ice. Nothing can hurt you._ She drew herself up regally, her head high, eyes defiant. "I have the Gift. But I haven't used it in over two years." 

"Who are you?" he whispered, peering at her. "You live on the streets and dress in the castoffs of people you killed, but you move and speak like a noble. Who are you?" 

Memories whispered to her, and her eyes darted around the room, suddenly unsure. 

_Who am I? Who was I?_ She tried to catch hold of the images that were slipping away, but they were gone, vanishing like mist. _It doesn't matter._ She drew herself up again. "I'm the person who tried to kill you," she told him, her voice harsh. "That's all that matters. I'm in this room with you, and I have no weapons. If you wish to kill me, stop dawdling and fulfill the task." 

He took a deep breath. "I can't kill you." 

Her lip curled. "Why not? Weak-willed?" 

"I could have killed you in the alley," he said quietly. "I won't kill you now, either. If you weren't too old, I'd consider teaching you the Shang arts." 

_The Shang arts?_ Her eyes gleamed. "If you let me loose, I'll be gone," she informed him. "I'm no fool. But if you keep me with you, I'll be nothing but a burden. If you teach me some of your craft-" She held up a hand. "Not all. If you teach me some, I'll be forced to stay with you." 

His eyes were wary. "I don't know..." he began. 

"Afraid?" she asked with a mocking smile. "Will I be too good for you?" 

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not good enough to teach anyone. I'm only twenty-one." 

"I'm old enough to murder people, Shang Dragon, and I'm twelve. If I can do that, I can learn almost anything." 

"You won't be able to become Shang," he warned her. 

"I don't want to be Shang. I want to be able to fight. Teach me basic skills, and I'll be in debt to you." Her eyes bored into his. "I always repay my debts." 

He ran a hand through coppery hair. "Very well," he assented. "But it isn't going to be easy." 

Relief flashed through her eyes. "I don't care." 

"Good," he said. "We begin today. We're leaving the inn a few hours from now, just after the sun rises. We'll reach Jesslaw by midday. Along the way we'll talk." 


End file.
